Dear Body
I'm sorry I haven't taken care of you.

I don't always exercise you like I should. (In truth, I sit around 90% of the day on my arse and proceed to get angry at you when I pant like a dog going up two flights of stairs.)

I don't feed you the things you need. (In reality, I cram all manner of shit into my gob in the hopes that you'll be able to process it into a clean-burning energy fuel that will somehow equal a balanced diet. Let's not even discuss the vast quantities of beer.)

I don't protect you, even when it would take moments. (Sunscreen takes too long to put on, right? A bike helmet looks silly, right? Seat-belts are restrictive, right?)

I don't appreciate you as much as I should. (Which is to say, I blame you for everything. When you get sick because I was farting around outside in -10 degrees or blasting tequila all evening it's certainly not MY fault! When you are sore because I pull an extremely unworked muscle group it's YOU that should've been up to the task!)

I guess I just wanted to say thanks. I can't tell you how glad I am that you've stuck by me all these years and that you're still willing to give it a shot for however long we still have together. I say so much shit about you and you never have a bad word to say. You've always been there for me and I'm not afraid to say I love you.

Cheers.

UW
(Uncle Washy, Tue 9 Mar 2010, 16:27, Reply)